


Fire and Death

by AllTheBellsInVenice



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dragon Sherlock, Erebor, F/M, Oral Sex, Smauglock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheBellsInVenice/pseuds/AllTheBellsInVenice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly is saved from a cold death, but the growing glow in her rescuer's fiery eyes holds even more danger. A sensual Smauglock tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kymbathewhitelion](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kymbathewhitelion).



> kymbathewhitelion said: Smaug!lock with Molly - whenever, wherever that Sherlock can effect his dragon form, and Molly likes both.
> 
> _I don’t usually write Smaug!lock. But when I do, I prefer a little elegant smut with a side of TERROR and a dash of feels. ;)_

The last thing Molly remembered was the viciously cold wind that had howled down suddenly from the foothills of the Grey Mountains, tearing at her throat, blowing through her poor clothes. The freezing gale confused her mind until she could no longer guess the way back to her camp, and she stumbled down onto the sere grass of the blasted heath again and again until, at the last, she could no longer stand. The rest was a dream, something impossible. 

She’d dreamed she had been lifted away from the frozen ground by long black claws that had sliced through the grass and frozen soil beneath her, then that she was pressed against a heaving heat that felt like glass cobbles under her body. A rush of air, then blackness, nothingness--until this moment, when Molly woke to a cavernous dark and a mysterious figure who sat on the other side of a little fire, looking into the flames. 

Somehow, she was alive, though her very bones ached. She lifted her head to get a better view of the stranger, but set it down again with a moan. Seeing her movement, the figure stirred, stepped nimbly through the fire, and sat near her, pulling her head and shoulders into his lap. 

“Drink this,” said a deep voice, and a cup was held to her lips. Hot broth, gamy but floating with fat and delicious with salt. She lifted her hands to the cup and drained it eagerly. He pulled the empty cup from her and shifted his body, then placed the cup against her mouth again. Low laughter rumbled when she emptied it once more. 

“You’re recovering quickly,” she heard, and looked up into a pale face, all angles and decidedly male, surrounded by a halo of dark curls. The blue eyes glittered at her with an unearthly light; was this an Elf-lord, then? 

She didn’t care. He was so warm. She cuddled against him. Another low laugh, and he lay down next to her and pulled her body against his own. Molly drifted down into sleep, blessedly enveloped by his great heat. 

***

When Molly woke again, the fire was low. There was a small supply of wood beside her; she leaned over to pile a couple of logs onto the guttering flames, then sat up to peer into the darkness. 

She had been lying on an enormous pile of soft furs that smelled musty and disused, and also very strongly of smoke from some great fire. She could see little of her surroundings beyond the pool of firelight, but the faraway echoes of dripping water suggested an enormous cavern, likely interconnected with other vast spaces by the slow, steady whoosh of dank air high above her.

No, it was more than the stirring of the upper airs that she heard. There were also long, sighing breaths. She turned her head toward the faint sound, and saw that she was not alone in the furs. 

The dark-haired stranger lay close at hand, wrapped in sleep, his bare chest rising and falling, one pale arm outflung on a black pelt. Molly cast her eyes over his slender form, his still face, seeing the movements of his eyes behind closed lids. Truly, she had never beheld such beauty in the shape of a...Man? An Elf? Some spirit of the ancient world? 

He was her rescuer. She wanted to kiss that face, those long hands. In gratitude and, she realised, something more. 

Those slanted eyes fluttered open and fixed on her, glittering amber in the darkness. Had they not been blue before? Molly thought confusedly, but then there was no time, no space in her mind for that hazy memory, for he was surging up out of the furs and capturing her in his arms. His mouth opened hers in an insistent kiss that tasted of burning stone.

“Daughter of Men,” he rumbled, his voice impossibly deep, resonating in her head--a trick of the echoes, surely. “So lovely in my eyes. Let me claim you. Let me feast on your flesh.” 

Molly shivered, her skin tingling where he was touching her. She wanted to feel that tingle everywhere; she found herself pulling at the laces of her tunic. He drew well back from her and watched her undress, his shoulders lifting and falling slowly with his great, heaving breaths. 

His gaze seemed to penetrate her every secret; she already felt bare under his eyes, even as she exposed all of her skin to him, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Naked, she opened her arms, making an offering of herself, of her maidenhood. 

And he did not hesitate to accept her invitation, crawling toward her like a predator, bending that long neck to capture one of her breasts with his mouth. He pushed her back onto the furs, then dragged long fingers across the tender nipple of her other breast while his other hand slid down the silky skin of her waist, her hip. 

“There is something about you…” the stranger breathed, that voice loud in her ear. “Something about your scent.” Molly’s eyes closed as she felt him licking a wet trail on her neck. “So...familiar. Delicious.”

“Who are you? What are you…?” Molly whispered, letting her hands timidly explore the contours of his contracted shoulders, the hard planes of his chest. He could not be an Elf, or he would not touch her like this, never touch any woman but his Elven wife. But he was too fey, too beautiful to be a mere Man...Then those hot fingers slipped between her legs, and Molly could think of nothing else. 

“I am sole ruler of this place,” he replied, kissing his way down her belly and parting her legs. “And you...you are a treasure...worthy of adding to my hoard.” She looked down at him in wonderment, and he met her gaze, his eyes glowing golden. His mouth dropped hungrily open, and she caught sight of a strangely long tongue darting out between sharp teeth. Then he bent his curly head, and writhed that wicked tongue against her sex. 

Molly moaned, the burn in her belly iced with a trickle of fear. There was something so uncanny in the sinuous motion of her lover’s neck, his hunching shoulders, the way he raked his long nails down her thighs and left her skin burning. She’d seen something like it before...A dim memory lurked in her mind, just out of reach…

She shoved the fear away, letting herself submit to the molten heat of his mouth as his tongue lashed her. “Please,” she heard herself whimpering. “Oh, please.”

“What nice manners you have.” Her lover laughed thunderously between her legs. “What do you say, daughter of Men?” he continued, reaching up to press her shoulders back, then sliding his chest up her body. “Shall I slide into your belly, make you my very own?” 

There was no turning back, Molly knew. She hadn’t glimpsed what he kept between his legs, didn’t dare look...but she knew something of the ways of man and woman, and her body was brimful of longing for him. She clutched him close. “Please, please.” 

Those amber eyes flashed. A dark smoke hovered around his intent face, though the fire was still burning brightly, smokeless, beside them...But now he was reaching down, and she felt a touch, then a blunt pressure…and then her body gave way, yielding to the hot length of him. Pressing unerringly forward, he filled her completely, tearing a cry from her throat. 

He paused, and his eyes narrowed at her; they were certainly glowing now, lighting the threads of smoke. Molly shuddered to see those eyes, so strange, so near. 

“What are you?” she moaned again, reaching up to touch his face, his hair. Her hand flinched back; hidden in his curls, but growing, lengthening every moment, was a beautiful pair of horns….

“I am called the Magnificent, the Golden,” that great voice intoned. He rolled his hips between her legs, wringing another helpless cry from her throat. He continued to move in her, and she pulled his shoulders down to her urgently, needing him so badly, far beyond her fear. 

“I am King of the Skies,” he continued against her wet mouth, his nails scraping at her scalp as he gave her cruel thrusts. “I am the Tremendous, the Tyrannical.” 

“Riddles in the dark,” she gasped out, pushing back against him in her defiance. “Your name. Give me your name.”

“A name is a powerful thing. I demand something in return,” he growled out, showing her those pointed teeth. “First you will surrender, give me your release. Do you feel it, Daughter of Men? Can you feel it rising in you?”

“I feel it,” she whispered, curling one little hand around a horn. That pressure coiling in her belly, ever tighter, unstoppable….

She fell over the edge, arching in his arms, her cries sounding thinly in the blackness that surrounded them. Her lover bent his head low and braced his arms on either side of their bodies. He drove his hips into her in a final, brutal thrust; Molly gave a keening cry that was drowned by his catastrophic roar. 

A strange sound met her ears as the echoes died away--a creaking, rustling noise. Molly opened her eyes and was aghast to see leathery wings unfolding from his arms. He lay over her, drawing and releasing great smoky breaths, his great wings stirring a wind even as his body filled the air with the stench of sulfur. And Molly laid her hands on his heaving chest, on his racing heart, and understood. 

“Trāgu,” she whispered against his mouth, transfixed by horror. 

Her lover laid his forehead against hers for a long moment before he answered. “Yes. That is my name in the language of Dale,” he said in that voice that thrummed through her very bones. 

Dale...her homeland, the beautiful city where she had been born, where one bright day when she was but a girl, a monster had appeared in the sky. His fire had flowed through the streets, his massive tail had cast down the stones and torn the roof off the home where she had lived...And her father...her father...

“I want to see,” she whispered, her hands trembling against his silky flesh. “Your true shape.”

Wordlessly, the great dragon Smaug, her lover, drew out of her, away from her, then backed away beyond the firelight and into the darkness. There was a great groaning of stone as an unspeakable weight settled onto the floor, a rush of air in her hair. And then the great scaly body loomed into view: the immense sweep of ruddy wings, the terrifying, clicking claws, the massive head with its savage golden gaze that focused directly on her tiny, fragile body. 

As she watched numbly, the beautiful red dragon canted his great head downward and bowed low before her. The voice sounded again, thundering through the dank air. 

“Now that you know my name, Daughter of Men, you will give me your own,” he said archly, vibrating the very stones. “It’s only...polite.”

Somehow, she found her voice. “I am Molly,” she told him, lifting her chin. “Daughter of Girion, Lord of Dale.”

“Daughter of…” Smaug took a step back, those golden eyes widening.

“Yes,” Molly said. “And now, surely, you will eat me too.” She got to her feet, drew herself up proudly. She was a child of Dale, and even if her people lived in exile, she’d not meet her fate on her knees.

“No. Not you as well,” Smaug replied, his form shrinking, blurring, until that slim man with the dark curls appeared, stopping just inside the circle of firelight. “Go from this place.” He pointed, not meeting her eyes.

Molly dressed quickly, watching the man, who remained still and silent, his beautiful face expressionless, even when she took a large pelt from the pile and wrapped it around her body. Wordlessly, he pointed again, and Molly walked toward the trickle of light in the next room, looking behind her every view steps until that pale form disappeared from view.


End file.
